But though he idly threw my note into his pocket as a thing of no account, yet he was a man of the most honourable and sensitive nature.
“I cannot,” he said, “leave you without carrying out my part of the contract. I gather that you are rather pressed for time, or I would drive you to the Princess’s Theatre in my private brougham, which is waiting for me near the Mansion House. No doubt the driver thinks I am lunching with the Lord Mayor, as I often do. But to take you just now to the Princess’s Theatre would interfere with your duties at the Apollo Fire Office, which I should be the last to wish to do; so I will write you a personal introduction to my dear friend, Mr. Barrett, and you can deliver it, either to-night or on the next occasion that you go to see him act.”
“It will be to-night,” I said.
He refused to go until his part was done.
“We must avoid even the appearance of evil,” he told me. “You might feel uneasy and suspicious were I to leave you with nothing but a promise. Martin Tupper’s word is as good as his oath, I believe; but it is a hard, a cold, and a cruel world. At any rate, you shall have the letter.”
He opened his bag, which contained writing materials, and he had soon written a note to Mr. Barrett, warmly commending me to the attention of that great man. He made me read it, and I was surprised how well he had summed up my character. He next gave me his own address, which was No. 96 Grosvenor Square—one of the most fashionable residential neighbourhoods in London—and then, hoping that I would dine with him and Mrs. Tupper two nights later, at 8 o’clock, he shook me warmly by the hand, wished me good luck, and left me.
I saw his dignified figure steal into the street, and though the general public did not seem to recognise him in his modest attire, I fancy that a policeman or two cast understanding glances at him. No doubt they had seen him before—at royal or other functions.
I seemed to be walking on air when I went back to work, for this great man, inspired by nothing but pure goodwill, had, as it were, opened the door of success to me and given me a chance for which thousands and thousands of young professional actors must have sighed in vain. He was hardly the man I should have chosen to know; but now that I did know him, I felt that it must have been a special Providence that had done it. I wished that I could make it up to him and hoped that he would live long enough for me to send him free tickets to see me act. Meantime, I determined to buy all his books, which was the least I could do.
But I was brought down to earth rather rudely from these beautiful thoughts, for when I got back to the office, Mr. Blades told me that Mr. Westonshaugh wished to speak to me; and it then transpired that, instead of taking half an hour for my luncheon, according to the rules and regulations of the Apollo, I had been out for two hours and rather more!
I was terribly sorry, and felt the right and proper thing was to be quite plain with Mr. Westonshaugh.